Forbidden Love
by glowstick988
Summary: Draco Malfoy has been having nightmares about a certain young girl in his year...
1. Chapter 1

Draco Malfoy has been having nightmares.

Draco shoots up in his bed, drenched in cold sweat. He is breathing hard, his silver eyes opened wide. He had the dream again, and it's like it's been since this all started, about a month ago.

This has started happening nightly — the bolting up, drenched in sweat, but he's never remembered _wh_y. First, he had the nightmares every other day, maybe after three or four. But now, this past week, he's been waking up terrified about something he can't remember. He wants so badly to just be able to sleep in peace, to just go through _one _goddamn night without being awakened by the dream he can't even recall.

But he can't. He's even started to get used to it. Last night, he went to bed knowing. Knowing he would be shaken awake by whatever was tormenting him inside his own head.

He hates it.

He knows he's not going to be able to go back to sleep. He looks around, but it's just blackness before him. He moves his feet, dangling them over the side of the soft mattress. They hit the floor with a soft, quiet thud.

He's been in this castle for a long time — long enough to be able to tell exactly where he's going in complete darkness.

Or maybe it's just because he's used to this. Getting up, knowing no more sleep will come. He wonders what time it is tonight.

As he heads downstairs, he tries hard to recall the dream, with no luck. He knows he won't be able to remember, but that doesn't stop him from trying every night.

The common room is completely empty, except for two people, who seemed to be asleep. The fire in the fireplace is dying down, except for a few still red-hot embers.

He stops and stares at the scorching ashes, and they make him think. Remind him of his relationship with Pansy. He remembers in fourth year, and fifth, how they were almost inseparable—they were by each other's sides constantly, the flame just starting to burn, wild and passionate.

In their sixth year, their intimacy had gotten greater by far. It was extremely different, and yet, the same as it had always been. They'd become lovers. Their love had grown, and so had they.

But this year, something changed. Not for Pansy, but Draco was starting to wish Pansy would just _go away. _The things they would do, that they found a necessity, just seemed irrelevant, insignificant to Draco now.The flame, the passion, had died. All it was were embers now. It was gone from Draco, you could see it in his eyes. But Pansy, however, could not.

Draco doesn't want to be around her anymore.

He's not really sure how this happened, he doesn't really know why. He just knows that he doesn't love her anymore.

Draco walks over to the clock: it reads 4:35, so Draco knew he didn't have to be in class for a while. He was thankful for this.

Draco sighs and sits down in a chair. He closes his eyes. He's tired, but he knows this kind if exhaustion; he's been through this almost every day since the nightmares started.

He sits there for a while, eyes closed, lids heavy and tired, but, he doesn't sleep. He's just there, thinking. Thinking, not sleeping. He knows what he has to look forward to today. It's the same thing everyday; walking — or you could call it strutting — into the Great Hall for breakfast, grinning one of his classic arrogant smiles. He smiles a lot, he has to smile a lot. If he doesn't have a smile plastered on his face, or he isn't making someone look like a bloody fool, then his _friends _will think something was wrong.

Wrong. Something definitely is wrong. And that something is a girl in his year. That something has bushy chestnut curls, chocolate brown eyes.

Hermione Granger.

He doesn't really know what's going on right now. Hermione Granger has a different place in his life than everyone else. He never _wants _to hurt her. He will, though. If he doesn't, his friends would ask questions. Draco didn't know why he actually has to force himself to say something hateful to Hermione, and on those rare occasions he saw tears shimmering in her eyes, he wanted so badly to hurt himself. And he loathes this. He loathes _her. _Or at least, this is what Draco tells himself.

Slowly, he opens his eyes.

The room is brighter, so it's obviously morning, or close. He sees movement out of the corner of his eyes, and he turns his head towards it. Whoever was lying on the sofa is up now, stretching their arms and legs. Draco stands up also, exaggerating a yawn and stretching his legs also. He walks slowly, his bare feet gliding swiftly across the cold ground as he walks.

He heads up the stairs and to his dormitory almost mechanically, and changes in a trance like state. He's done this enough to just _know _where to go, what to do. Even while he's not thinking. About it, anyways…

He gets ready for the day slowly, trying to busy himself so he doesn't have to think. He likes it better this way. He doesn't want to think. If he starts thinking, if he had to take a look at where his life is headed, he would probably end up the same way he was a few months ago.

He can remember what he used to be like a few months ago. He was just…. Alone. Always alone. He still is alone, but he's learned to deal with it. He can see the scars on his wrists, faded a bit with time, a reminder of what he once was. That was only a short time ago. But a minute can feel like days, an hour an eternity.

He sighs and knows it's time for class. It's Friday, which he is grateful for. He knows he'll be going home for the holidays in five days, and he is happy. He gets to spend some time alone for a bit. He really needs that. More than anything.

He puts his shoes on and sighs, the ache rising in his chest once again.

_Author's Note: Please review, I want to become an author someday, and I want to know if I'm any good at all, even if it's just fanfiction!_


	2. Chapter 2

Draco really hates breakfast sometimes.

Well, when it's with _them_. He can stand the Hufflepuffs, too bloody loyal to their friends to even pay attention. He can take the Ravenclaws, always answering the questions correct, always the first to raise their hands.

But the Gryffindors, no, he can't take. He sits directly in front of _them, _Hermione actually, and Ron on her left. Harry on her right. He knows exactly where she is every day, he would if he had no idea where she sat. He can sense it, he has been able to for a while.

He enters the great hall with a sigh, and lifts his chin up a little higher. He raises his cheek just a bit, ignoring the slight pain at the effort. He can't remember the last time he smiled a real smile.

He walks to the table, watching Pansy smile that smile Draco's heart used to leap for, and scooting over. He looks into her eyes, smirking, and she smiles back. She giggles a bit, just enough for Draco and only Draco to hear, and he makes his smirk more pronounced. He leans in and kisses her on the neck, but honestly all he's doing, is hoping to god his smile reaches his eyes.

Draco sometimes wishes class could just go away.

He likes to learn, a trait he inherited from his father, but he doesn't like his classes with _them._

He can put up with the Hufflepuffs; they're too goddamn loyal to their _best mates _to even pay any attention to the Slytherins, let alone, Malfoy, and as much as he loathes them in general, he appreciates it.

He can tolerate the Ravenclaws also. They answer every question, always the first ones to raise their bloody hands in the air. Draco appreciates this also, he can lay low during the classes with them.

But when it's with _them, _the Gryffindors, the trio, Hermione. That's when he can't take it. He sits directly in front of her in most of his classes with her. He knows where she is all the time; he would if she sat across the room. He can sense her, sense her every movement.

He knows that he has double Potions with them in a few minutes, so he's thinking about all of this. But, he doesn't like to dwell on that, he hopes he can get himself to cease thinking again. He loved thinking about his life a few months ago, but that's how he ended up…

He lifts his head up and sees Hermione entering the dungeons, Ron and Harry on her right side. Her smile is radiant, her laugh filling the air around him. He holds his breath.

She is grinning broadly when she turns to face him.

Her grin abruptly fades, and her eyes, a second ago filled with happiness, turn dark. What was once a smile now looks like a scowl, and her eyes spark with hate, instead of laughter.

The small hum of ache around his midsection intensifies like a blow to his stomach.

Once again, the fake smile stuck to his face, he stands up. He touches his wand in his back pocket, to be sure it's there, and walks quickly into the dungeons almost directly behind Harry.

He sits down in his seat, and is thankful that Snape is heading towards the front of the class. He spins in his seat, forcing his eyes forward. He, somehow, feels her gaze over his shoulder. He stares without blinking, ignoring the icy pain in his eyes.

Then Snape starts the lesson.

"Okay," he begins, in his deep monotone, "today we will _not _be using our wands. Open your books to page four hundred and seven. Read that chapter. And I want an essay on how the stone ties in with the mandrake root…"

Draco sighs and pulls the book out of his bag. He's not listening anymore, he'll get the assignment from someone later. He closes his eyes, trying to focus his thoughts on _potions. Just potions._

He flips the page to what Snape said, trying to focus on the words across the page and not on the throbbing in his chest area

He looks at the writing. The writing in the black, elegant script that flows across the page. At one point in his life, this class meant a lot to him, and he loved how on top of it, there was the humiliation of Granger…. And Potter and Weasley.

But now, Snape's lectures have less hatred in them, his admiration for Snape is gone. The text that used to be a fairly large part of his life doesn't mean a thing anymore. The letters are all a blur, just meaningless blotches of black ink on an off-white piece of paper. He blinks rapidly and rubs at his eyes, and tries to focus again.

He can read the script now, he can see every sentence, every word, every letter, perfectly clear. So he begins to read.

He is a fast reader, so he can probably get these done today. But he can't find the meaning of the words. The things he's supposed to be learning are blatant in front of him, and all it is to him are a mix of letters. He re-reads, re-reads again, and again but he can't find meaning. The words are just curves and lines. They don't mean a thing.

Draco just gives up after a while, he uses the rest his time to make it look like he's focusing on what he should be.

**Author's Notes:** _I know this sucks so far, I know it's pointless and probably confusing. But I promise, it's going to get interesting very, very soon. Please review, I would love to hear your thoughts!_


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